sharers in her bounty, especially the simple, well-meaning Sally, who had recently married one of her former fellow servants, and was now rendered happy and independent for life, by the gift of a cottage and garden by ner former favourites, Belgrave and Grace. But none, perhaps, more intensely felt the blessing of Grace's well-deserved prosperity than poor Joe, the dumb boy, who, having received the full benefit of instruction in the noble institution in which he had been placed by the Earl of Melverley, was, at the request of her who had been from infancy his firm friend, sent down to Llan, without being made acquainted whither he was going, or who he was to see. To describe his transports would be impossible, when he beheld his young benefactress, and by degrees comprehended the change of fortune that had attended her, and that he was henceforth to remain with her, having been rendered capable by instruction of acting as under gardener. He laughed, cried, and laughed again, in a breath; but that which gratified Grace most was, that when his first wild transports were over, she found he had been rendered capable of giving a more rational proof of his gratitude in well and neatly-written thanks for all her kindness, and a promise to deserve it by future good conduct, a promise which was kept to the letter.

By Belgrave's directions, a plain, handsome monument was placed over the grave of Mrs. Woodford, in the burial-ground at Bath; and the first excursion which Grace took with her happy husband from Llan- six months after their marriage, was to

visit this spot.

On this occasion, Mrs. Mansell did not fail to call on all those who had any claim on her remembrance;

and among them Mrs. Stevens, from whom, worldly and avaricious as she was, as much kindness had been shown to the former as her nature was capable of. That she was received with a profusion of compliments and expressions of satisfaction at her good fortune, may be easily conceived; but Grace waited impatiently for an opportunity of asking her a question, which she was very desirous of having answered.

"Your sister, Mrs. Freeman," she inquired; "have you heard of her lately?"

"Ah, Miss Grace-I beg your pardon-Mrs. Mansell, I should have said," she replied, bursting into tears "I have had a world of trouble about Susan; but she always was a trouble and a disgrace to me and my family. But, however, I don't think it will be for long, now; for she is dying by inches in the infirmary; and hard enough it is on me to find her in all she wants there. And, indeed, I have often thought of writing to you, because I know you are so kind and good; but when I mentioned it to her, I thought she would have gone into fits, for she said you was the last person on earth that she could have anything to hope from."

All remembrance of Mrs. Freeman's faults was instantly banished from Grace's gentle bosom at hearing this, and she directly put a handsome sum of money into Mrs. Stevens' hand, for the purpose of supplying her unfortunate sister with every comfort.

"Tell her, too, from me," she observed, "that if she would not object to my visiting her, I will stay another day in Bath for that purpose. I have not forgotten with what kindness she soothed me, and bore with my complainings when my poor mother's death left me desolate and alone in the world."

Grace had just retired from the dinner-table at the hotel at which she and her husband were staying, when she was informed a person wished to speak to her, and in a few moments Mrs. Stevens entered the room.

"My poor sister, Mrs. Mansell!" she exclaimed, bursting into tears, "she is dying, and she says she should die happier if she could hear from your own lips

Grace lost not a moment in attending her, and in a few minutes they entered together the ward of the infirmary which contained the wretched victim of vice.

Prepared, however, as she was, for a great alteration in the person of Mrs. Freeman, Grace could not help starting back with horror, when she beheld the ghastly emaciated face and form which, supported by pillows, met her sight.

The wretched woman stretched out her worn hand in reply to Grace's gentle soothing, but in vain she tried for some moments to utter a word.

"I am dying, Grace," she at last articulated. "Oh! it is hard to die! so young, too, and with the fears, the horrid fears that there is an hereafter, where Oh! save me! save me!" she uttered, with frantic vehemence, "I will strive-I will repent-I will try to make amends - Ah, it will not go; there-therethere is the same horrid form, it threatens me-save me! save me!"

She sank back fainting and exhausted on the pillow, and Grace-her eyes streaming with tears-awaited with anxiety the moment when she should revive sufficiently to listen to the words of comfort with which she would fain have spoken peace to her departing spirit; but it was in vain, it had been the last effort of expiring nature which had prompted that tremendous struggle;

the countenance grew more and more livid, the features more rigid and contracted, and the fixed and glazed eyes confirmed what the nurse whispered in compassionate accents, that all was over.

YEARS have passed, and the memory of the unrighteous is forgotten, while Grace, loving and beloved, has lived to look upon all that troubled her as only a painful dream which has passed away, leaving in its place the certainty of substantial happiness which arises from a steady perseverance in well doing. Surrounded with a rising, beautiful, and united family, and encompassed on all sides with the enduring effects of her benevolence and care for her fellow creatures, there is little fear, that when she closes her career of usefulness, she should soon be forgotten, while the plain marble tablet that records simply the day of her birth and of her death, and the fond remembrance that still exists in the memory of Grace and Belgrave, is all that remains of the Pride of the Village.

THE END.

Grace Woodford counting the increase of her father's flocks, &c.

DIRECTIONS TO THE BINDER.

Frontispicce and engraved Title-page

To face each other.

Portrait of Maria Woodford

19

37

Portrait of Sir Walter Fitz-Geffrey

114

View of Westwood Farm

264

266

Portrait of Grace Woodford

406

741

753

"And now, dearest girl,' said the sanguine youth," &c. .

They were returning in the evening from their rustic labours" "Hush!' exclaimed Florence, 'there are footsteps approaching" "She bent over him, and ascertained beyond doubt that he slept"

Johnston, Printer, Lovell's Court, St. Paul's.

754